


Traitor Beneath My Breast

by shiny_glor_chan



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amnesia, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiny_glor_chan/pseuds/shiny_glor_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander can't help but take a bold step forward to catch the man's eyes, and when he does, his breath catches in his throat. Those eyes are familiar to him, but they are not ones he's seen for almost a decade. He's at a loss for words for the second time, and Alexander can't help but think it's not unfamiliar feeling, not when John Laurens is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for Hamilton. Been working on this first chapter for a week or so, but since I started it, I got so lucky to snag a ticket for the Wednesday matinee. I think I may have died. So, expect me to stick around, I hope. <3
> 
> Also, points to those who know where my title comes from. It's a musical of sorts too.
> 
> I'll add more tags as I go. And to be straight-forward, I am not going to ignore what Eliza means to Alexander in favor of Lams. It'll be a balance. And here's the timeline and kids' ages for reference:
> 
> Children's Ages:  
> Philip turning 9 (January 22nd 1791)  
> Angelica 6  
> Alexander Jr. 4  
> James Alexander 2  
> Eliza would be about 2 months pregnant with John Church Hamilton

His son turns nine years old today, but Alexander Hamilton had forgotten to pick up hand painted toy soldiers he had ordered especially for him. Toy soldiers painted to mimic Alexander's war compatriots. While there are books wrapped as a present from his dearest Eliza, Alexander knows a boy of only nine years may not be satisfied with just books as a gift from his parents. 

With his aunts and uncles unable to arrive the day of the party, gifts from his parents (and his young siblings) are the only ones he'll receive today. Alexander hurries his way to the toy shop. In his haste, he runs into someone, nearly knocking them both off his feet. He catches himself, but the other man has not.

“My apologies! Are you all right, good sir?” Alexander questions as his offers a hand to the man in question.

As he helps the man back to his feet, Alexander privately thinks that perhaps good sir may have been too early an assumption. The man's clothing are not only rumpled but dirty and torn. His hair is unkempt with a beard that's seen better days. It hides his face well, as does the fact the man hides his eyes.

“My thanks,” the vagabond murmurs, the lilt of his voice strangely familiar to Alexander's ears, then chuckles. “I find myself at a loss. I have not been called a good sir in quite some time.”

Alexander scrutinizes the man in front of him once more. “You speak quite well for someone...” he trails off, words failing him for the first time in a long while.

“Of my station? Not that I know what station that would be, good sir, for my memory has been gone from me for longer than I care to piece together,” the vagabond admits freely, a smile playing across his lips. “Perhaps it would be best not to be seen speaking to one such as I.”

“You speak more eloquently than some I speak with on a regular basis,” Alexander insists, his heart beating fast. “You seem familiar to me. Have we met before? Ah, a silly question for one without memories. But there's something about your candor...”

Alexander can't help but take a bold step forward to catch the man's eyes, and when he does, his breath catches in his throat. Those eyes are familiar to him, but they are not ones he's seen for almost a decade. He's at a loss for words for the second time, and Alexander can't help but think it's not unfamiliar feeling, not when John Laurens is involved.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” the ghost of John Laurens says, concern lacing his tone. 

“I have... I believe I know who you are, but it is all together impossible to be true,” Alexander replies as he steadies himself against the wall of a shop. “This must be a waking dream, for to me you have eyes and speech of a dead man.”

The ghost of Laurens frowns then hesitates over his next words. “Are you quite sure it's impossible? I... I have yet to meet a singular person who has found me familiar in any way. I have been wandering for close to a decade, having woken up in a quite a lot of pain somewhere in the South-”

Alexander's heart skips a beat. “The South, you say?” he interrupts, tongue heavy in his mouth as he continues. “Would you say in Carolinas, or thereabouts?”

“South Carolina, or so I was told as I was ushered out of the state. Some found a wounded, wandering man to be distasteful,” he says honestly, carefully tapping his right shoulder. “It seems an old injury aggravated by being shot in the same place before. That is all I know, other than when it aches, there will be rain.”

“Would it be too forward for me to ask to see the wound?” Alexander asks before he can think better of it. “I would open up my home for you to see yourself clean and fed in exchange, if that suits you.”

“I would readily agree, but you seem to conceivably know my identity, and I have yet to know yours.”

Alexander huffs a small laugh. “I forget myself. It's an unusual moment when I find myself having to introduce myself in this city. Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of Treasury of our new country.”

The man that may be his dear Laurens stares with wide eyes. “You are most definitely verbose enough to be Secretary Hamilton.”

“I am told that it is my best virtue and my worst vice,” Alexander tells him with an unintentionally flirty smile. “Let us go, ah, but first I must step inside the toymaker's shop just ahead. I have a gift to pick up for my son.”

* * *

Usually, Alexander plans several moves ahead in every thing he does, but in the face of living and breathing John Laurens, he forgets the fact that it wouldn't be easy bringing a stranger into the house with three excitable children and his wife waiting for him. Even with the odds being stacked against him, he manages to sneak in through the back with his Laurens. He's quite proud of this feat.

“With the going ons today, it is not likely I can draw you a bath with hot water without drawing my wife's suspicion,” Alexander apologizes as they reach the washroom.

“Better than attempting to clean myself in the Hudson. I'd get swept away in the current for my efforts,” Laurens jokes.

Alexander bites back an indelicate snort. “Ah yes, I would not recommend going against a river's current,” he agrees, having had his own incident in the Schuylkill River during the war.

Laurens gives him a curious look, before eyeing the wash tub as Alexander pulls out towels and washcloths from a closet. “You'll have to wait in here while I fetch the water and some clean clothes for you,” Alexander adds, catching Laurens' attention again.

“I do not wish to trouble you overmuch-” Laurens begins, but Alexander waves him off dismissively.

“No trouble, my dear,” he replies, inwardly cringing at the accidental slip of sentimentality as he charges on, as not to call attention to it. “Had I left you to your own devices, care would've killed this particular cat.”

Laurens seems to be unable keep from smiling, even if it's just a shadow of one. “More of a tomcat, so I've been led to believe,” he murmurs quietly.

“Slander,” Alexander replies with a grin; it's an old nickname that he's sure Laurens only would have known from the war. “I will admit, perhaps not an unfounded nickname in my days of bachelor.”

Running a hand over the edge of the tub, Laurens zones out a bit. Alexander watches him for a moment before shaking his head, murmuring a few words about being back with clean water. He leaves Laurens to his own devices for now.

“Hey, pops, who was that?” Philip asks, startling as Alexander shuts the door to the washroom. “Is he here for my birthday dinner?”

Alexander's mind quickly runs through excuses to feed his son. “It's a surprise,” he says teasingly, ruffling the boy's hair. “Now, don't tell your mother. The surprise would be ruined.”

Fortunately, Philip hasn't been able to quite tell yet when his father has lied to him, so he smiles widely then presses finger to his lips. “Right, okay, but that's not the whole present, right? Angelica thinks you went to the toymaker's shop-”

“Philip,” Alexander interrupts as sternly as he can, while amused that Angelica Schuyler's namesake seems to already be a quick witted as her. “Go back to your mother and siblings. I'll be down in a bit.”

Philip pouts then sighs. “Fine, father,” he agrees reluctantly as he turns around to head back downstairs.

Once his son is out of sight and earshot, Alexander lets out a sigh of relief. His children are too inquisitive for their own good, but he can't help but be proud of them. Take after him, after all. He sneaks downstairs to grab a bucket. It takes a few trips to half fill the tub.

“That would be enough. Really, don't trouble yourself more, sir,” the man in serious need of bath tells him, and Alexander complies before he leaves to return with a let of his clothes that may fit the taller man.

“The breeches may be a little short, but the socks will do a good job of covering that-” Alexander begins as he re-enters the washroom, words sticking in his throat when he sees that Laurens has undressed to the waist.

Alexander knows this body better than his own, even after a decade of age and time. He can see Laurens' ribs, but he can clearly sees scars from different battles they've been in that he's traced with his fingers and tongue. There're new ones too, like the explosion of scar tissue that has spread on Laurens' right shoulder.

He knows he shouldn't stare, but that scar is the shot that could have taken his Laurens from him permanently. Alexander and their compatriots had thought it had. His eyes wander down, a part of him needing more to confirm this ghost in front of him, and he sees a birthmark that he knows marks this man as John Laurens.

“Are you satisfied with your inspection?” John asks, and Alexander can't make his tongue move as he needs it to form words. “I believe you've found what...who were looking for?”

Alexander nods. “There is no doubt in my mind you are uniquely one Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens,” he tells him, trying not to choke on the words with the emotions tearing through him, not unlike the hurricane that tore his childhood home apart.

“I do not remember being this man, but it is a relief to hear I have a name... Even an army rank,” John murmurs before squaring his shoulders. “Thank you. May I question you about the past after I bathe, shave, and dress?”

“Of course,” Alexander replies quickly, unable to deny this man the world if he should so wish it to be his. “I'll leave you to it. Ah, join us downstairs for dinner when you're suitably prepared? It may be a bit overwhelming, but it seems my son has caught sight of you, and he may be under the impression you are a surprise guest for the celebrations.”

John snorts a laugh, ducking his head. “I have the strangest feeling that your children must all take after you.”

Alexander attempts to be offended, but he is so proud every time he sees himself in Philip, Angelica, Alexander Jr., and even little James. “It may drive my poor Eliza mad,” he jokes, “but I can see her in them as well when they never back down from what they believe is right. Oh, and when they pull me away from my writing to come to dinner.”

“That sounds about right. Even if I don't remember it, I have a strong feeling that you've always needed someone to keep you from writing like the world may end,” John points out, his lips curled into a fond smile.

“You're not wrong,” Alexander agrees as he grabs soaps, towels, and shaving supplies. “I'll be just downstairs. You don't have to stay for the whole dinner if the children overwhelm you. Once they know your name, I believe it will only be questions about our time together during the war, take down deplorable red coats to build them a new country without a King.”

“I'll keep that in mind, though I am not one to back down from a challenge,” he says as he runs a hand through his tangled locks. 

Alexander indulges himself in watching John more than he should again before turning around. “See you on the other side,” he jokes as he heads for the door.

“See you on the other side,” John replies back without more than a beat of silence between them.

Alexander's traitorous heart flutters in his chest like the wings of a hummingbird as he makes his exit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking the box, Philip gleefully tears through the plain, brown paper; his eyes widen when he opens the box. “Toy soldiers!” he exclaims excitedly, causing his little brothers to try peer into the box. “Whoa, dad, this one looks like you!”
> 
> Alexander chuckles fondly. “I had them specially made. You'll find quite a few of my fellow soldiers in that box.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you know when you're writing, and you're like: PERF STOPPING POINT COMING UP YES!
> 
> ...then suddenly the characters keep talking and whoosh right by that perfect stopping point? Yeah, that happened. Damn you, Alexander Hamilton.

“Bravo!” Alexander exclaims when Philip finishes his poem featuring some background snapping and beatboxing from siblings, and his sense of pride swells as his children grin at the praise then turns to Eliza. “Our kids are pretty great.”

“They are,” Eliza agrees, a sweet smile gracing her face. “Now, shall we open the gifts or have dessert first?”

All the children call out at once, voices becoming an unintelligible cacophony. “Now, now,” Alexander interrupts, “perhaps Philip should get to decide?”

“Presents!” Philip crows in victory as Angelica mutters under her breath with Alexander Jr. pouting; little James doesn't seem too fussed about the delay in dessert as he clings to his mother in her lap. 

They begin with small handmade gifts from his siblings. James pulls away from Eliza long enough to hug Philip tight. Alexander Jr. has an arrowhead he'd found on a walk with father by the river. Angelica huffs as she hands her older brother a pillow with a very simple embroidery of his name, and she tells him mother helped her with it.

“Now, this is from your father and I,” Eliza says as she hands Philip a bundle of books tied together with ribbon. “One to practice your French, another for math, and the last one is an adventure book we thought you might enjoy after your lessons.”

Philip tore off the ribbon to inspect the books more closely, spending more time on the adventure book than anything else. “Thanks, ma! Thanks, pops!” he replies kissing his mother gently on the cheek before hugging his father.

“That's not my last present for you, son,” Alexander teases as he takes out a wrapped box he had been hiding under his chair.

Taking the box, Philip gleefully tears through the plain, brown paper; his eyes widen when he opens the box. “Toy soldiers!” he exclaims excitedly, causing his little brothers to try peer into the box. “Whoa, dad, this one looks like you!”

Alexander chuckles fondly. “I had them specially made. You'll find quite a few of my fellow soldiers in that box.”

Philip, even through his excitement, gingerly takes out each figurine. He places his dad in the middle of the table for everyone to see, and even Angelica looks envious of the collection, especially when Philip places General Washington on the table next.

Alexander explains a few of the soldiers Philip may not offhand, but it seems his son has learned most of the names of them from his stories over the years. Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette, and Aaron Burr are all named as they're taken out of the box with care, a few other soldiers listed between.

“There's one more left!” Philip announces, pulling out the last soldier, staring at intently. “Pops, is that-”

“John Laurens,” Alexander interrupts, noticing the recognition in Philip's eyes and worrying he may mention that he saw that very soldier in the washroom before dinner. “Best of men, really.”

He glances towards the stairs, wondering if John would be making an entrance soon, or if he had decided to pass on the festivities. Eliza's looking at him with an expression he knows well on her, the look she has when she's trying to puzzle together what's going on in his brain.

“Perhaps,” Eliza says softly, as if deciding to change topics to keep from talking about something painful, “we should set aside the presents, and I'll fetch dessert from the kitchen.”

The mood shifts, and Alexander is ever grateful for his wife's quick witted mind, even though it's not quite what it seems. “Let me help, dearest Eliza,” he tells her, sharing a glance with her.

Eliza smiles her response. “Philip, hold your brother for me,” she tells her eldest as James reaches for the toy soldiers.

Philip almost protests, but when it comes to Eliza's motherly stare down, he relents quickly and takes his brother from her. Eliza heads into the kitchen, Alexander on her heels as he wonders how to explain the man upstairs.

“Is something wrong, Alexander?” Eliza asks, cutting right to the chase as she does when the children are out of earshot. 

Alexander thinks of how to tell his dear Eliza that a dead man lives without causing a fainting spell. Not that he's ever witnessed his wife faint like some maiden in distress. He'd rather not help set a precedent.

“It's a delicate matter to explain,” he begins sheepishly.

“Then it is for the best neither of is delicate,” Eliza replies, taking her husband's hand into her own. “Simple terms, Alexander, not an essay.”

He chuckles at her bluntness. “Simply put, there's a dead man washing up in our washroom.”

Eliza blinks a few times, staring at her dear husband without comprehension. “Perhaps a few more words would help explain...”

“On my way to toy shop, I ran into a man in my haste. As I helped him back to his feet, I noticed something strangely familiar about him, and the more we spoke, the more I found myself talking to the ghost of my dear Laurens,” Alexander explains softly, Eliza squeezing his hand as she listens. “He remembers nothing of his life, but I am sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man is John Laurens. He has seen better days, so I offered succor in our home.

“And a bath, because my dearest wife, I believe he has not seen one in such a long time. After...the battle we believed him dead, it seems he healed up enough to wander, but the state of South Carolina did not want an aimless vagabond. How dare they not recognize a war hero of his caliber! With his father way in Europe, there still should have been people that would know him-!”

“Alexander,” Eliza interrupts with a sharp intake of breath, “I believe the man of which you speak is standing behind you.”

Without a thought, Alexander spins on his heel, his wife's hand still in his. He pulls her forward in his haste, making them an awkward tangle of limbs standing in the middle of the kitchen. John seems amused by the antics.

“I did not mean to interrupt your speech extolling my virtues, but not making myself known would have been contrary to your kind words,” John tells them, leaning against a nearby wall. “I was unsure an abrupt entrance with the children in the dining room would be best, and to be perfectly honest, a whole brood of Alexander's children seems a daunting meeting.”

Eliza hides her smile behind her hand as Alexander grumbles. “You say you do not remember me, but your words still hit the mark as they always have, even after nearly a decade.”

John frowns at the declaration. “Perhaps even without your memories intact,” Eliza interjects delicately, “you remember Alexander without remembering. I have heard of such things. A person with no recollection of the past, yet they speak of things only they would know or say. It's not completely implausible that Alexander has jogged them, so to speak.”

“My Eliza is quite right, I'm sure,” Alexander agrees, locking eyes with John. “You should stay with us until we can contact your family in the South...or for however long you need, my dearest Laurens.”

“I would hate to impose when you have such a brood to take care of,” John protests, but Eliza shakes her head.

“Nonsense, this is the perfect time,” she disagrees with him. “It will be no trouble. If anything, the children will be completely entranced by meeting one their father's fellow war heroes. You should have heard the commotion they made when Marquis de Lafayette paid a visit from France!”

Alexander chuckles at the memory. “Yes, I believe Angelica's interest in the French language began during that visit,” he says slyly, shaking his head. “God help the Frenchmen if she studies abroad in France.”

“I don't believe this is a fight I can win,” John agrees, albeit with some reluctance. “But I will not live off charity. Allow me to pull my weight and help with chores and maintenance of your home.”

Eliza smiles as she steps forward. “Then we're in agreement. I'd never stop a man willing to take on household chores,” she says, throwing a look Alexander's way, who holds his hands up in defense.

“I am a very busy man, Eliza, the president needs-”

“Ah, yes, an excuse I've heard many a time to excuse your nonstop presence in your office,” Eliza interrupts, crossing her arms across her chest.

John coughs to hide a surprised laugh. “I'd hate to disturb such marital bliss, but I believe your children may get curious if you stay in the kitchen much longer.”

“I believe one already has,” Eliza says as she grabs the cake, gesturing to Alexander to look down.

Alexander's brows furrow when he sees his young namesake peeking in from the doorway. “Hello, Junior,” he says he crouches down to the four year old's level. “Why aren't you waiting with your siblings?”

“Philip and Angelica are busy keeping James from grabbing the toy soldiers from the box,” he replies quietly, looking up and away from his father to notice John. “You look like one of the toy soldiers, sir.”

Alexander bites the inside of his cheek as he tries to think of something to distract his son, but John crouches down beside him, eye level with Alexander Jr. “So I've heard. Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, at your command,” he says with a bit of a flourish and a smile, making Alexander's heart feel too tight in his chest. “What's your name then, young man?”

“Alexander Hamilton Jr!” Alexander Jr. proclaims proudly, puffing out his chest and standing up as straight as possible. “Daddy calls me Junior, and Mama sometimes calls me Alex. Should I call you Lieutenant Colonel or Mr. Laurens?”

John chuckles. “I don't mind being called Mr. Laurens,” he replies, and Alexander nods beside him in agreement.

“Oh! Daddy called you best of men, so you must be really good!” Alexander Jr. exclaims, but he gets distracted when Eliza passes by with the cake. “Mama, we're having dessert now? Is Mr. Laurens joining us?”

“That's up to Mr. Laurens,” Eliza tells him as she gestures to her son to follow her. “Help me serve the cake, and we'll see if your father's friend will joining us soon.”

Alexander Jr. seems to pout for a moment before waving following Eliza obediently. “You don't have to join us if it'll be too overwhelming,” Alexander says once his wife and middle son are out of earshot.

“I think I'd hardly be able to keep the title 'best of men' if I were to disappoint your children by retiring so early,” John tells him, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

Alexander's cheeks redden a bit. “Well, you seem to be in top form, so you'll survive,” he replies back, ignoring the long dormant feelings that have been rising to the surface ever since he had found John again. “You truly remember nothing? Our banter feels as though I've been transported back ten years time.”

John shakes his head, his smile disappearing. “No memories, though, feelings are another matter,” he murmurs. “I know I feel strongly for you, and it's not a feeling I have felt since before I can remember. I do not remember my family or friends or what I would have felt for them. Just what I feel for you.”

Clearing his throat of the words he wishes to say and cannot, Alexander forces a smile. “For now, that will have to be enough. Once the children are abed, we can discuss what to do on the matter of your family and other friends. I know they'll be elated to know you are among the living once more.”

“Are you quite sure of that? Perhaps you can speak for our shared comrades, but my family...” he trails off, closing his eyes. “I have a feeling of deep unease speaking of my family.”

“You did not speak of them overmuch, no,” Alexander says quietly, “but I know you cared deeply for your siblings. You and your father never quite saw eye to eye on many matters, and I'm still quite unsure what your feelings were about your wife and daughter-”

John chokes on his next breath. “Wife and daughter...?”

“Yes,” Alexander replies, trying to keep from wincing. “They were abroad in London then. I never was able to find out much else, but I believe your daughter stays with your family in South Carolina now. But we can put that worry aside until the morrow, if it ails you overmuch. There's nothing to be done about contacting them tonight.”

“You are right...” John murmurs then runs a hand over his face. “Let me meet the rest of your children properly. I believe that will distract me from thoughts of my own family matters.”

“Then let us go and hope there is still a slice of Eliza's wonderful cake left for you to enjoy,” Alexander announces, putting an arm around John's good shoulder to lead him into the dining room.

**Author's Note:**

> So, let me know what you think. I am usually very reluctant to post fic before I've finished it, but this had a good stopping point, and I am so immersed in Hamilton right now that I should complete this. I just want opinions, and constructive criticism's cool too.
> 
> Next part will be Philip's bday party with his mom, dad, sibs, and the Surprise Guest he's had to keep quiet about. 
> 
> EDIT: For some reason, I wanted to believe they were in Philly at this point. They are not, so I changed some wording because John woulda been talking about Hudson. Oops.


End file.
